


The Demon's Story

by RRRobin



Series: Bookshop!verse [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-17
Updated: 2012-10-17
Packaged: 2017-11-16 12:49:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/539611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RRRobin/pseuds/RRRobin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is how Dean became a demon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Demon's Story

**_Lawrence, Kansas 1879_ **

Dean lies in the dirt on his back. He hurts so badly. Not just one part but everything from the way he’s been worked over. He opens his eyes and turns his head; Sam is covered in dust and dirt and blood. Sam isn’t moving or breathing anymore.

Dean hears the crunch of boots on gravel and looks the other way as a sweet looking girl with sweet brown curls in a blue dress walks over to him.

Her delicate hands hold a long barreled pistol; she kicks dirt over him and smiles as she loads the empty chamber of her gun with bullets. 

“I’m doing you a kindness, Winchester. I’m saving you from the guilt and shame of not having the stuff to protect your family. Sweet dreams.”

Dean hears the chamber spin and then click into place. He doesn’t close his eyes when the gunshot sounds and echoes across the farmland. He feels the sharp pain pierce his side and burn away everything in its oath. But it’s not there for long as his blood leaks out and spreads across his shirt, warm and distracting.

The sweet girl walks away.

The sky is purple and pink when he closes his eyes. Sam still hasn’t moved once the entire time.

**************

Dean wakes up later and on his side in bed. Through the fevered haze of pain and infection, he sees Dr. Singer is asleep in a chair next to him. The old man’s chin rests on his chest and his hands lay clasped on his lap.

Dean tries to move off the bed and bend at the waist but there are bandages all around his middle. There’s a red spot in the white at his side where he remembers being shot. Where is everybody? He’s got to find Sam, his mom and his dad. 

“Doc B?” Dean chokes out, his throat dry and raspy. The old man startles awake and then sighs in his chair. 

“Never thought you’d wake up, boy.” He says, smile small and sad.

“Where’s my mom an’ dad?” Dean asks, a bead of sweat trickling down the side of his face.

Dr. Singer’s body tenses and not even when he reaches out and places a comforting hand on Dean’s shoulder, does he relax. 

“They didn’ make it, Dean.”

His dry throat gets tight and it feels like he’s been fed dirt and sand and he can’t breathe. He coughs and chokes and Dr. Singer fills a cup with water. He puts it to Dean’s lips and he drinks. The liquid moves down his throat, taking the dust and the sand down to his stomach where it settles into a stone. 

When the cup is empty and Dean can breathe steady, he asks, “Sammy?”

“Dean…” Dr. Singer doesn’t have to say much more because Dean gets it. Sam is dead. Everyone is dead and he’s damn near close to joining them.

The stone in his stomach comes back up and Dean throws up all over himself. He passes out right after into a black inky sky with no stars.

**************

It takes three days for the worst of the infection to pass but it takes longer than that for Dean to wake up. Bone tired, bled out and hollow. A person shouldn’t be able to live like that.

Dean wakes up after five days, his mind is clear and he has an idea. He’s going to hunt down every single one of those bastards that attacked the farm and he is going to kill all of them. No mercy.

It’ll be the last thing he does. He knows it will but he won’t give it up. He’s got work to do. And not once does he think about God.

**************

Four months later, after the wound heals and he works his strength back up to something resembling his old self, Dean saddles his horse. Dean sold what was left of the farm to a young family and pocketed the cash. He has something else to do now and it doesn’t involve him staying in Lawrence and growing old. Especially when the whole town looks at him like he’s so unnatural.

His horse Zeppelin snorts and shakes her head and Dean pats the spot where she was burned in the stable fire. There’s a knock at the stable door and it’s Doc B standing there. He looks like he always wants to stop Dean and beg him to stay but he never says anything. Not a word.

“Glad I caught you before you rode out. Got somethin’ for ya.”

Dean sighs. “Doc, you already packed me an aid kit. You’re good on gifts.”

Dr. Singer rummages through a sack and pulls out a worn holster. “I know you already got a rifle but you’ll need a revolver.”

Deans pulls out the long barreled gun from the holster and stares. “A colt? Doc B, I can’t take this.”

“You’ve seen my cellar, boy. I won’t be missin’ one damn revolver.” His voice cracks a bit on the last word and Dean doesn’t miss it. He doesn’t say anything in return, just loops the belt around his hips and places the gun in the holster.

Dean leads his horse out of the stables and climbs on. He looks over his shoulder and Dr. Singer is standing there with his black hat gripped in his hands. 

“Don’t worry, Doc, we’ll be meetin’ again sometime soon.” He winks and digs his boot into Zeppelin’s side to get her going.

Dean knows how this will end but he can keep that one promise to an old friend.

***************

**  
_Detroit, Michigan 1883_   
**

It has taken four years of following whispers covered in dust and buying words in local saloons. Dean has new scars all over his skin like a roadmap leading to this moment. 

He’s finally found them and it’s funny as hell that they should all be living on a farm. Dean sneaks inside their barn, lets all the horses loose and then sets the stables on fire. He hides behind a low half built stone wall with his rifle and waits. Soon enough he hears the shouts of two men as they rush out of the house to collect the horses and put the fires out.

Dean counts to three, his heart beating so fast he feels like it’ll explode with his first shot, before he turns around and sets up his gun. Three shots are all it takes. They all go down one by one, bewildered and confused just like his family had been. Father, uncle and son.

He bursts into the house and there’s no one to greet him in the hallway or the kitchen. Dean switches from rifle, letting it slide to his back, to his colt revolver. He climbs the stairs and all the doors are open except for one. Dean kicks it down and there she is, cowering by her window and dressed in bright white like pretty purity.

She doesn’t say anything but her dark eyes widen with recollection of their past meeting. 

“It’s been a long while, Ruby.”

She’s on her knees in the next moment at his feet, her hands folded together as if she’s at the Gospel mill on a Sunday. 

“Please, don’t kill me. I’ll do anythin’.” She’s crying; her cheeks are shiny and slick with how scared she is. Her hands move up his hips with purpose and she tries pressing in spots that she knows should garner some reaction. Dean chuckles a little and her hands stop.

“I ain’t one for girls.” Dean says and she begins to sob again. Louder this time around. He pushes her away and she falls flat on her back.

“Not gonna kill you. I’m gonna do you a kindness, Ruby. I’m helpin’ you meet your maker.”

Dean raises his revolver and pulls the trigger twice. Ruby goes still and stops sobbing. Red spills onto her nightdress quickly like it can’t wait to pour out from her body. 

For the first time in four years, Dean feels like he can breathe.

**************

__  
**Lawrence, Kansas**  


Dean’s on wanted posters as soon as he leaves the state of Michigan. He rides back all the way to Lawrence, Kansas. The first place he visits is the jail house. Sheriff Rufus Turner, when he sets eyes on Dean says, “Damn, you are seven different types of a jackass and none of them smarter than the other.”

Dean just smiles and offers his wrists. And later when Sheriff Turner is sober enough, Dean confesses. Since they got a confession, no trial is needed and Dean’s set to hang the next day.

He falls asleep in his cell without trouble that night and in his dreams he sees a six-year-old Sam covered in mud and chasing his mom around the yard.

***************

Dean’s ushered to his hanging quietly and without much fuss. None of the deputies say much and they don’t look Dean in the eye. They all look sad and he can’t understand why.

The noose is put around his neck and tightened a little. He stands on the trapped door and looks out at the crowd. They’re all so quiet and they’re just watching him. He can see Dr. Singer in the crowd and his face is red with suppressed tears.

“Any last auspicious words for your audience, Winchester?”

Dean nods and looks back out at the people from his town. “I’m not sorry. No matter how much Pastor Jim prays I could repent and be saved. There are some things a man just can’t run away from and well, I suppose I’m saved from the blessings of civilization.”

The crowd doesn’t react and after a minute of silence, the panel of wood beneath his boots opens up and he falls. Dean’s neck snaps instantly.

Dr. Singer buries him next to his brother in an unmarked grave.

**Author's Note:**

> I think I've watched Stagecoach one too many times. I swear Dean is John Wayne in this story.


End file.
